The Legion Anew
by Time Tripper
Summary: I have put this story on hold due to major revisions based on what's been going on in DC continuity... most importantly, the death of Terra, who was to be a very prominently featured character in the story. Stay tuned for more, please!
1. Prologue

Shikari hit the ground with a thud that was clearly audible to anyone within a thirty-foot earshot. Luckily her skin had hardened to its armored state, a near invulnerable, shell-like defense mechanism inherent to all Kwai; it saved her from the fall. Dazed, she stood and caught her bearings. Seconds ago, she was hovering in the time stream with her fellow Legionnaires, being pulled, thrust, and yanked in all directions, holding desperately to Timber Wolf's hand. She looked upward and saw no trace of an opening to the time stream portal; evidently, it closed up behind her as she fell back to the ground in Metropolis. A throng began to gather around the stunned Legionnaire. These days, any action involving even one member of the Legion meant something to either witness or run away from, far away.

"Shikari!" squawked the voice from within the Kwai Legionnaire's communicator beacon, and it startled her for a moment. "Chuck Taine?" she queried, relieved to hear a familiar voice.

"Kari, what's the situation? Yours is the only communicator I'm able to raise," replied Chuck, "It's as if the rest of the Legion has vanished!"

As she aimed her arms upward, spread her massive, fluttering wings, and gently lifted into the air above Metropolis, Shikari answered the voice on the communicator. "The Legion is lost in the time stream, Chuck Taine. We must find them!" Before her, a triangular portal appeared, whizzing with electrical energy, and as she slipped through the portal, it brightened momentarily and then disappeared with a soft hum.

On the other side of the portal, a harried Shikari half hovered and half strutted through a crowded corridor lined with Science Police officers and other members of her Kwai tribe. The folks along her path all stepped aside to let the Legionnaire pass; no one wanted to block her way to the mission monitor room where Chuck Taine was eagerly awaiting her arrival. As she entered the sprawling bi-level auditorium where all of the main Legion ops were conducted on Legion World, a beefy, dark-haired young man in a red engineer's cap greeted her. He stood and sighed and walked toward the Kwai Legionnaire.

"Chuck Taine," exclaimed Shikari, "how are we going to locate our friends? If they're lost in the time stream, they can be anywhere… or, more specifically, any_when_!"

"Easy, Kari," consoled Chuck. "Let's get our bearings. And while we're doing that, I think it's time to call in the second string."


	2. Inductions

The meeting hall was a commanding, awe-inspiring room. It was always humming with the sounds of the busy, mixed with impeccable mood lighting. But the most wondrous feature of all was the oval shaped polymer ceiling about the size of a standard practice Hover-ball court. Through it, one could look up and easily be lost in thought as they caught a glimpse of the Earth below... or above, depending on their perspective. The hall was enormous in size, easily able to comfortably accommodate 525 full-grown sentient beings at any given moment. It was a goal of the Legion's founder that one day his team would perhaps reach that ambitious membership quota, combining a love for his stalwart foundlings with the dream that the United Planets would actually include even half that many worlds. More of a dream than a goal, but R.J. Brande was a man who thought big. And he encouraged his Legionnaires to think big as well, one of the reasons he provided them with this amazing meeting hall. R.J. stood in one of the three ready rooms that flanked the meeting hall, its window overlooking the antechamber below. Behind him were attendants and other members of his personal security team, each assigned to some bit of business pertaining to this very important man. But his attention was not on his security team, or the crowded room beneath him; it was on the children he'd grown to love as his own, the ones lost in time. Each one of them with their greatly opposing yet complimentary personalities and idiosyncrasies was indeed dear to him, from Luornu's three bickering selves to Reep's playful charm. There was no way he could pinpoint a favorite Legionnaire. Even Shikari, one of the most recent to join his band of heroes, was someone he'd grown fiercely fond of. He was, after all, indirectly responsible for her race's creation. Now R.J. Brande shifted his focus to one 17-year-old man in particular, a man who'd stepped up to the plate and assumed a very pivotal, somewhat daunting role as stand-in leader of what remained of the Legion of Super-Heroes. He leaned his forehead to the glass partition and disengaged the mute on his hyper-plug, allowing him to hear quite clearly what was about to commence in the meeting hall.

"Esteemed members of the United Planets Council, President Wazzo, and all my honored guests," began Chuck after clearing his throat and firming his nerves with a steely grip on the podium before him. Murmurs began to subside. To the right of Chuck stood Shikari, wings retracted, wearing a formal Legion-issued evening gown, velvet red and satin white. Her turquoise hair was pulled up in a tight bun, small ringlets falling to either side of her face, and her grayish skin features were lightly accented by a glimmer of silvery cosmetics, revealing a wonderfully beautiful young sentient. On Chuck's left stood a lanky blonde-haired boy in formalwear whose colors matched the gown worn by Shikari. His hands were gloved, neatly folded at his abdomen. Chuck himself wore a similar variation of the suit his blonde friend wore, but he still sported his signature engineer's cap, backwards and perched just perfectly askew, small filters of black hair pouring through.

"As all of us are aware," he continued, "this ceremony is the very first of its kind, and it is with great pride that I am here speaking to you all today. 15 Earth-days ago, 27 of my closest friends disappeared into the time stream. And although the U.P. has a more than efficient policing structure in place, it has long been the responsibility of the Legion of Super Heroes to protect our ideals and, frankly, our safety. Without a Legion in place, would we have survived against the Blight? Or the Fatal 500? Or any of the varied galactic confrontations we've encountered the last few years? My answer is a resounding 'No.'

"None of us, however, has the liberty to let the U.P., or the _galaxy_, for that matter, go without the protection of the Legion. Wherever the 27 missing members of our Legion are right now, I am certain they are working toward getting themselves right back here in the 31st century where they belong. But today, a day when we are absent a Legion, we have a responsibility to ourselves and to all members of the United Planets to give every individual the comfort of knowing they have their protectors in place. With that I present to you the newest members of the Legion of Super Heroes!"

A cautious round of applause began and suddenly increased in vibrancy. Even President Wazzo, whose own daughter was one of the earliest members of the Legion and was now, in fact, lost in time herself, applauded with vigor. Above, looking on, R.J. Brande smiled solemnly. Many doubts filled his mind, and despite the fact that he was a positive, forward thinker and had faith in the decision to recruit these youngsters to full active, unsupervised duty, he knew most of them were green in the realm of battle, and he'd seen one too many losses in his day. One dead youth was one more than he ever wanted on his conscience. And already the list was horrifyingly long: James, Gim, Jan, Candi.

The unscripted, unprecedented ceremony began when the blonde fellow at Chuck Taine's side began to read off names. His name was Dyrk Magz, and once not too long ago he was a member of the Legion. It was the highlight of his young life, adventuring along with other teens from all over the galaxy, fraught with both thrill and apprehension. Dyrk had been recruited into the Legion under a similar circumstance when several Legionnaires were also lost in the time stream, one of whom was Cosmic Boy, a founding member of the Legion and a fellow Braalian. It had been a once in a lifetime opportunity for Dyrk to utilize his innate manipulative magnetic powers to 'fill in' for Cosmic Boy while the gap in the group was there. Dyrk had served his tenure under the codename Magno until a tragic battle with an ancient, mystical evil called Mordru robbed him of his powers. Since then he had served humbly as a liaison to the Legion and the U.P. as well as a handy assistant to Chuck Taine. Both non-super powered youths became fast friends as they remained intrinsic to the day to day operations of Legion World, but Dyrk still yearned for more. Although his friendship with Chuck was a dear one, Dyrk knew Chuck could never understand the loss he'd suffered; it was like losing a limb, like losing an essential part of himself. And although he feverishly enjoyed his work on Legion World, he longed to suit up and be Magno again, to ride the electro-magnetic pull in the atmosphere, to play Hover-ball the way all Braalians could. Yet here he was today, bestowing upon twenty-five strangers the title he so coveted: Legionnaire. Lucky for Dyrk, his disappointment was easily masked behind the near-contagious excitement in the meeting hall.

"Berta Skye-Harris," read Dyrk from his holo-clipboard. An exotic girl stepped forward; her skin was a soft, jaundiced yellow, her hair a tangle of burgundy waves. She was a few inches taller than Dyrk and smiled down at him as he handed over her Flight Ring. When the girl moved back into formation, Dyrk continued announcing names. Above in the ready room R.J. Brande listened. The names resonated in his head. Richard Kent Shakespeare. Brody Bakster. Deen Toro. Ming Sul. Drura Sehpt. As the last Flight Ring was granted, R.J. sighed.

"Mr. Brande!" shouted someone audibly enough to stir Brande's assistants into a defensive posture. The three Sci-cops in Brande's ready room had instinctively reached for their phasers and had flanked the billionaire, ready to defend him with their lives. However, it was quickly apparent that the boy hollering Brande's name was no threat; as he entered the threshold of the ready room, clearly out of breath, he raised his hands, revealing no weapons. "Mr. Brande," he repeated, this time more with relief than hysteria.

Brande cleared his throat. "At ease, gentlemen," he said to his assistants, "this here's a friend." The Sci-cops lowered their weapons, almost disappointedly, and turned back to whatever it was they'd been doing a minute before. "Rond Vidar," Brande said firmly. The kid couldn't have been a day older than thirteen, his black stringy hair parted neatly down the center, his skin pale and abundant with blemishes. His horn-rimmed glasses were slightly askew, and Brande noticed a small patch of adhesive on the small piece just above the boy's nose. His purple velvet vest was creased and wrinkled, and the buttons were each a hole off. The sight of this kid, who, a thousand years earlier might have been labeled a nerd, made Brande chuckle.

"Mr. Brande," said the excited boy, "We've found proof that the time stream has begun to unravel. We have to act fast if we're going to rescue the Legion!" Rond sniffled back a runny nose.

Brande reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a hankie, offering it over to Rond. The kid grabbed the cloth and wholeheartedly blew his nose into it. He handed it back to Mr. Brande. "Hang on to it, lad," laughed Brande. "Now what's this proof, and what do we need to do?"


	3. The Mission

Located on the bustling west end of Metropolis, adjacent to the site of the old Legion HQ, was the Time Institute. The Institute was a very unassuming edifice, unremarkably clustered between several other buildings, most of which were used as museums or libraries. These days, most of the west end of Metropolis was visited by tourists and the like, as full time denizens lived on the north or east cusps. It was problematic for any sentient to live in the center of the city, due to heavy interstellar traffic to and from the Space Port. Not to mention fear of contamination from the many power plant facilities. And the west end held little appeal for Metropolis natives, most of whom would just as soon travel off-world before exploring the inner workings of their city. There was a small faction of folks from G'rmmr, a tropical outer-rim planet, most of whose inhabitants were highly intelligent insect-like sentients with long, metallic-green heads and thoraces, and iridescent, reddish-brown wing covers. These G'rmmrs almost all worked at the museums or libraries. One G'rmmr, Circadia Senius, was chief operator at the Time Institute. Senius was a very well known sentient not only in the small knit G'rmmr community, but galaxy wide. His theorems and advances in the study of time were widely heralded and had garnered him many fans, most of which were young, ambitious, budding scientists themselves. The prodigy Rond Vidar was Circadia Senius' most notable devotee, and on this shiny Thursday afternoon in the Earth-calendar year of 3005, it was with butterflies in his belly that Rond presented his case to Circadia Senius.

"It's at _this_ point where the rift will begin, Dr. Senius!" exclaimed the boy excitedly as he pointed with a poker to a holographic image hovering above their heads. His voice broke off as if he were suffering from a sinus cold. He sniffled a bit and rubbed his nose generously with the hanky he'd been given by Mr. Brande. Senius, known for being unabashedly straightforward, was not pleased that Vidar had alarmed R.J. Brande and the Legion with his calculations before informing Senius or other members of the Time Council. But Senius held back from commenting on the situation because he knew that what Rond Vidar had discovered was, in fact, true, and could quite possibly spell the impending end of the time stream as they knew it to exist. And certainly it would only be a matter of time before the Institute would have to involve the Legion of Super-Heroes. _And_ R.J. Brande.

"Stay calm, Vidar," clicked Senius. His voice was projected through a cybernetic apparatus linked to the being's vocal structure. This was necessary for any G'rmmr to communicate with other beings, as their native tongue was untranslatable. Even through the interpreter, there was an audible clicking sound that could be compared to the chirp of a cricket. Most humanoids and other Earth-dwelling sentients were used to the sound of a G'rmmr's translated voice, but Brody Bakster, one of the newest members of the Legion of Super-Heroes, made no effort to hide the fact that Senius, and his voice, creeped him out.

"Ugh, listening to _that thing_ talk makes my skin crawl, "whispered Bakster, code-named Brawler, to Ming Sul, another new Legionnaire who stood to his left. Sul ignored his inappropriate mutterings. Both Chuck Taine and R.J. Brande gave disapproving glances to Brawler. Brande shook his head.

Circadia Senius continued speaking. "I am not offended by ignorance, Brande, no need to reprimand the human."

"I'm _not_ human, _insect_, I'm about 5 marks better," stated Brawler. Ming Sul reacted this time, shooting her teammate an aggressive glare and stepping aside, closer to Chuck. Brawler chuckled smugly and continued, "Us Moxians are a far-better, more evolved class of sentients."

"Yes, and you've just proven all that class by opening your foul mouth," sarcastically retorted Sul, code-named Amp Girl. She stood small in stature, but it was evident she wasn't troubled by confrontation. Her short black hair was held back with a yellow barrette. She wore a red and yellow sleeveless uniform, the bottom of which was a skirt that sat just at the top of her thighs. Her boots, a crisp red vinyl, ended just below her knee and complimented her legs very nicely. Sul suddenly realized, as she was berating Brawler, his eyes were moving up and down her torso. She crossed her arms and said, "And if you don't remove your eyes from my chest, I'll rip them out of your head and hand them to you."

Brawler smiled and yelped, "Ha!" R.J. Brande decided that, although he was glad to see these feisty young folks weren't displaying trepidation over the mission at hand, it was time to rein in the bickering.

"Enough, you two," said Brande firmly, "and Brawler, I think we can try to curb our enthusiastic xenophobia, can we not?" Brawler grunted. Chuck smiled approvingly at Amp Girl.

"Okay, group, if we're to hit this problem head-on, we need to do some traveling," said Chuck. He, too, had a nervous stomach, but he refused to show any sign of fear to those in his charge. Most especially Brawler. He looked at the folks gathered before him and reevaluated his earlier team assessment. Were these seven the right ones to send on a mission this urgent? He knew he didn't have any time to retract his decision, so he conceded to stand behind it and take command.

The seven Legionnaires before him were as follows: resident wise guy Brawler, whose super-human strength was topped of by the ability to mind-mesh with machinery; Amp Girl could triplicate her own natural strength, speed and agility, but could also amplify the super-powers of those around her; Deen Toro, code-named Retro, was able to rewind time in small increments, and although the power was mostly untapped, it could certainly come in handy on a mission where time travel was largely a factor; Nois Nemid was a slender girl with an ashy-gray skin tone and long, curly pink hair which she wore in pig-tails. Her code-name was Orbit and her special ability was to expel energy rings which acted as containment fields, able to hold anyone or anything she willed them to; Delya Castill, code-named Mentalla, hailed from Saturn's primary satellite, Titan, and although she shared the extraordinary telepathic prowess of her people, she also maintained limited mind-control, enabling her to commandeer an opponent's motor functions; Rondo Kane, teen heartthrob and intergalactic Holo-reel star with the recent ability to telemetrically manipulate crystal, called himself Quartz; and Tenzil Kem, the willowy, comedic reserve Legionnaire whose newly active full time status demanded he take on a code-name, so he chose Injestor which gave homage to his not-so-humble sense of humor and hinted at his natural Bismollian ability to eat and ingest anything, from meat and veggies to metal, wood or stone.

Chuck began, "We can't afford for this mission become a logistical nightmare, so each of you is being equipped with a universal translator, your standard-issue Flight Ring, a time beacon locator, and the appropriate amount of twenty-first century currency. When you arrive, I cannot urge you enough to do as little to interfere with current events as possible, and to keep your eyes on the targets. The locaters and currency should be enough to help you each find your targets with as little effort and incident as possible." Chuck approached Tenzil and rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're my point man on this one, Tenz. These guys answer to _you_, got it?" His emphasis was meant mainly for Brawler.

"I got point, Chuckles," replied Tenzil. He chomped on a Bismollian candy bar, wrapper and all. Brawler growled inaudibly as Tenzil Kem shot him an authoritative look.

Rond Vidar sniffled and walked the perimeter of the gathered group. He whirred, "The Time Cube isn't used to having so many people jaunt at one time, but we've been working diligently to assure there will be a zero error margin."

"By 'error margin', what do you mean, _exactly_," inquired Orbit vehemently. There was a small group grumbling.

Circadia Senius stepped forward, his six tarsi each moving in perfect sync with one another as he gesticulated to move in front of the zealous Rond Vidar. "The time jaunt is assured without error, Legionnaires. You will arrive at your destination unscathed and be able to complete your mission as planned, " clicked Senius assuredly, "Though for some of you, it wouldn't be a great loss to the universe to have your molecules scrambled and dissipated."

The assemblage made a collective chuckle, and Retro pushed Brawler's upper arm and said, "He means you, B-man."

"Thanks, _Metro_, I kinda got that," said Brawler gruffly.

The seven Legionnaires were each instructed to do a last once-over to the contents of their utility belts for the main issued supplies, and soon the seven were escorted by Senius to the Time Cube. Quartz put his hand on the inner edge of the Cube. Orbit followed suit. The others stood firmly, with Injestor at the forefront. He planted his feet firmly, put his hands to his hips in a mimic of the archetypal heroic pose, and quipped, "2005, here comes trouble."


	4. INTERLUDE 1: The Kent Farm

The last tiny vestiges of dusk had left its amber and violet mixed signature over the swinging weeping willows out past the Kent's acres-spanning farm, and the soothing sounds of night began to call. A calm breeze wafted through the autumn evening, and somewhere a cricket began a multi-legged concerto. Soft, comforting murmurs came from the barn, and Jeb Jackson's tractor, the one with the familiar cranking and thumping verse to it, steadily began to drift off, engines ready to cool till daybreak tomorrow.

Martha loved this time of day, for reasons other than the perfectly obvious; it was that time when her beloved husband would breathe easy, sipping fresh lemonade or sometimes iced tea on the back veranda, the one he and Clark spent countless nights contemplating life and their places in it. Martha had many things to be thankful for in her long life, but the three things she held most dearly were her husband Jonathan, their son Clark, and this part of the day that represented the ties that bound the three of them into one.

"Hey there, handsome," she half-whispered, "I brought you some tea." She set the tray, uncluttered by anything but two tall, full glasses, onto the birch table that sat between two matching birch easy chairs.

"Hey there, y'a self," muttered a relaxed Jonathan, a stocky, soft-spoken man in his early seventies, eyes rimmed by specs that outlined the happiness inside his soul. He smiled up at his wife, and suggested, "why not join me?"

"Was plannin' on it," she said and sighed as she sat beside him and listened to the noises of the night. He reached over and cupped her right hand in his left, and they sat there for almost an hour, silently sipping the tea and listening intently to nothing in particular; it was comforting for each hearing the other's soft breath.

Suddenly, a heavy pounding at the front door jarred them from the evening's calmness, but what startled them both more so was how quickly the pounding became slow knocking and then faint tapping, all almost in a heartbeat. In this rural part of Kansas, visitors at this hour of the day were rare, but anyone crass enough to batter on the door was cause for caution.

"Well, whatd'ya suppose that was, Martha?" asked Jonathan as he hurried to his feet and accidentally tipped his empty tea glass over. He was already quite on his way through the foyer to investigate the clamor at the front of their ranch.

"Wait for me, Jon—I just wanna grab somethin' first," Martha insisted.

Jonathan smiled nervously at his wife, stopped at the gun cabinet in their dining room, grabbed a rifle from its perch and shoved some shells into his coverall front pocket. "Way ahead of ya, darlin'," said Jon in that charming way he knew would help her believe he wasn't as scared as she was.

"You keep that safety on, mister," chided Martha, whose state of mind hovered someplace between concern and dread. She didn't want Jonathan to forget a detail as simple, yet crucial, as the safety on the rifle.

The two of them approached the front door, Martha clicking on lamps as they passed her periphery, and after clearing his throat, Jonathan shouted, "Who's there?" The words sounded very small in his ears, nowhere near as threatening and in control as he had anticipated they should, and this realization made him back up an inch, clacking shoulders with his wife. "Sorry," he whispered.

"WHO'S THERE?" shouted Martha Kent, both a reinforcement to her husband's clarity and to let the door-pounder know he or she was dealing with two people here, two steadfast old folks who weren't about to be frightened off. At least, that's the message she'd hoped to get across.

The voice, small and low, that came from behind the door was like something out of a mist covered old dream, almost a déjà vu of something comfortable and well known. It was the voice of their son, but not as they knew it now, the one they'd hear daily over the phone or on Sundays when he and Lois would visit for early supper. No, they hadn't heard this intonation in some years, not in the many years since he left for college and his ensuing life and career in Metropolis.

Martha held back a gasp as she met eyes with Jonathan, and as one they reached for the doorknob. In a puddle of shadows hung their son, or at least their son when he was seventeen. He was drooped on hands and knees, his costume covered in soot, his vibrant red cape in tatters, the silky sheen nearly gone. His gentle black hair fell forward, carefully hiding bruises that seemed impossible to exist on the face of an indestructible boy. He'd been crying, it appeared, and there was a matting of dried blood at the corner of his upper lip. He lifted his head and squinted, sighed with relief, and muttered, "I thought you were dead… he said he killed you both."

"Dear God, Jonathan!" exclaimed Martha. She was incredibly confused, but she was focused enough to kneel beside her son, albeit a much younger version of the grown man she'd raised. She wiped the hair from his forehead and noticed he felt feverish, something that was also quite puzzling; Clark never got sick, at least not with fever or the like.

Jonathan was a bit slower getting to her side and assisting the boy up off the porch, but he managed all the same, and the two of them helped young Clark to his feet and into their home. Though the situation felt strange, it also felt very right. Neither Kent doubted this was truly their son, and with all the weird occupational hazards Clark had encountered in his career as Superman, why should his being reverted back to a teenager be any weirder?

Martha gave the door a soft kick from behind to nudge it closed as they headed for the sofa, a cushiony fabric couch covered by pillows and a hand knitted quilt; it was one of Martha's best works. Clark's breath was shallow in her ear, and he was mumbling words she couldn't quite make out. What she did hear made her heart pound even faster than it had already been these past few moments, and she looked over to Jonathan to see if he had a reaction. Apparently, though, Jon hadn't heard the words; he was intent on getting his bruised, and not exactly featherweight, son over to the sofa. The two of them set the boy down as he nuzzled into a position that was familiar to all three of them. There was no mistaking that this was their son as he quickly fell asleep, cradling a pillow.

"Didja hear him, Jon?" asked Martha. Her voice trembled. "Didja hear what he asked me?"

Jonathan shook his head and shrugged. He hadn't heard much of anything from the time of the loud pounding at the door. The rest had become somewhat blurry, a surreal dream in real life. "What'd he say, love?" he responded, securing a pillow behind Clark's head and shaking off some dust from the quilt to wrap it over the boy.

" '_How'd you get so old'_," she imitated. Her eyes glassed up with anxious tears, and she cleared her throat and said, "He asked how we got so old."

Jonathan smiled and chuckled a little, then ran his hands over his son's head. "Maybe he hasn't seen us in about as long as we haven't seen him!" said Jon as he stood and went to the phone. "I'm callin' his wife," he continued, "she has a right to know that her husband's just turned up at our door wearin' his old face and a boat-load o' bruises."

Relief sighed past Martha's lips, and she went off to the kitchen to fetch a cold cloth to pat off Clark's face. She could hear the connection being made through the telephone lines even from where she stood in the kitchen; this new phone was equipped with a tone enhancer to help Jon hear better, but alarmingly anyone else in earshot was subject to an audible two-way phone conversation. Not that these two folks needed to keep any of their phone conversations private, but she could see how that might be an inconvenience to other folks. In this immediate case, however, it was sort of a blessing.

She heard the automated voice tell her husband he'd been connected through their long distance carrier, and thank you for using us, and she clearly heard the phone ring twice over there in Metropolis. She heard Lois answer the call, greet her father-in-law, and energetically ask how he was doing.

"Fine, Lois, just fine," Jon responded, making eye contact with Martha on her reentry to the living room as if to get nonverbal permission to pass on their bizarre news. He continued, "but I fear Clark isn't in such great shape."

Martha snarled, shrugging and shaking her head. Not too smooth, she thought. She knelt beside her sleeping son and damped his forehead with the cloth. She'd have segued more smoothly onto the fact that Lois' husband was now seventeen years old and looked like he'd been beaten by a sledge-hammer, as if such a tool could harm the man of steel. Martha steadied herself and listened for Lois' voice through the phone wire.

"What do you mean, Jonathan," said the voice on the line, "Clark's right here with me." Jonathan's eyes went wide and his forehead tensed as Martha's jaw dropped. "You want to talk to him?" questioned the Lois-voice on the line as Jonathan nearly lost his grip on the receiver.


	5. The Arrival

The idea of jaunting through the time stream involved glamour and high intrigue for Injestor. He expected a similar experience to that of teleportation: a tingly feeling while one's cell structure became decompressed, a momentary period of blackout, and the same tingles as the cells reconstructed. He expected it would be a piece of cake. He didn't expect, however, the actual experience. None of the new Legionnaires did. And when, in the basement of a vacant warehouse in Metropolis, the seven of them (and Vidar's invisible prototype time cube) materialized in May of 2005, they were each greeted with a heavy case of disoriented pain.

"Whoa!" shouted Injestor, squinting hard, palms pressed against his temples. He doubled over, dropping his shades to the ground, and said. "What the grife just happened?"

"Dr. Senius should have warned us it was going to be a rough ride if we all jaunted together," responded Mentalla. She was a beautiful girl: tall, lithe, and graceful with sunbeam yellow ringlets of blonde hair. Despite the physical discomfort she was feeling, she tried not to illustrate signs of unease; as a longtime student of dance at the Titan Center of the Arts, not displaying poise and grace would be uncharacteristic. However, headaches were not something she, or most natives of Titan, knew how to deal with. She continued, "but it looks like he left out the part about the blaring migraine."

"And the nausea. Damn _bug_," stated Brawler. He, too, rubbed at his head, and reached over to Amp Girl's elbow conveying a manner of concern. She nodded and rolled her eyes.

"I'm ok, it'll pass," she whispered. And then she ran a few steps, turned away, and vomited.

"Relax, everyone," said Retro confidently. "We're feeling a sort of temporal jetlag, and I think I can help," he added as he raised his hands and faced his palms wide at the others. Invisible waves of energy poured forth, and each of his teammates suddenly began to feel a cleansing sensation as the head pain and queasiness left their bodies.

"Metro, you're a lifesaver," atypically admitted Brawler.

"How'd you do that," inquired Injestor, regaining his composure. He reached down for his shades and slid them back on. Orbit handed Amp Girl a tissue from a pouch in her U-belt and received a nod of thanks.

Retro basked for a minute, enjoying the awe and attention of his comrades. His smile lacked any semblance of humility. "Simple, really," he shrugged. "I absorbed the temporal energies which latched onto us as we time-jaunted. My body has a much higher threshold to absorb and dissipate that kind of energy."

"Good to know!" exclaimed Injestor. "Okay, people," he said with a couple of light hand claps in an attempt to rein the disoriented group in, "the sensors indicate we've managed to end up in the proper time target, so the first thing we need to do is find our way to Kansas."

"Are we relying on flight rings to get us there, or should we do something less conspicuous?" asked Quartz.

Brawler stepped forward and poked at Quartz' shoulder. "Find me one of those car-things the primates in this century use for transportation and I'll manipulate the grife out of it," he remarked callously. His teammates didn't think very much of the Moxian Legionnaire, but when it came to his powers, no one could scoff. And soon enough, once the seven of them left the warehouse and ventured out into the daylight of 2005, they found a large white sport utility truck parked on the corner of Blake and 48th. "This'll do," chuckled Brawler as he removed his flight ring and locator beacon and pressed them up against the driver's side door. "It's even called a Navigator! How fitting!" The metal from the SUV began to morph, taking in the properties of the Nth metal from which Brawler's flight ring was forged. The tires became encased in a sheath of white just as the vehicle began to hover in place above the ground. And then the door locks popped, and all four doors opened in synch.

The Legionnaires looked on in awe, but Mentalla shook her head. "I'm inclined to think that stealing someone's vehicle is not the best way to remain under the radar," she admitted. "I'd like to think I'm not the only one, but, sadly, I can read your collective excitement loud and clear."

"Look at it this way, Mentalla," said Amp Girl, "Mox-face needs to do something to prove his usefulness before one of us puts him down like the dog he is."

"And," chimed Retro, "it's really sprocking cool!"

They climbed aboard the hover-truck, Brawler at the helm. The truck's dashboard had taken on the properties of the beacon and suddenly became illuminated with Interlac characters and sophisticated, 31st Century technology. Brawler tapped diligently at the readings that were holographically superimposed before him, entering the coordinates for Smallville, Kansas. The group watched as Metropolis shrunk away beneath and behind them. And just to prove his carefree mettle, he plugged into a local rock station and cranked up the music.

"Woo-hoo," yelled Brawler, "Road trip!" Some giggled, some rolled their eyes. But they were all on their way to their destination.

Standing by her kitchen sink, Martha Kent rinsed the day's lunch plates and glanced out the four-paned window before her. Straight ahead, off to the side of the barn, stood Jonathan in a pair of faded blue overalls; he was looking upward quizzically, using his right hand as a sun visor. Leaning in closer to the window, Martha tried to follow the direction in which Jon was looking, not noticing that her apron was becoming soaked by the running water. There was something up there in the cloudless sky, and through squinted eyes she could still tell it wasn't a plane. When she looked back at Jonathan, he met her glance and waved her out. She shut the faucet, grabbed a towel and dried her hands, and proceeded out onto the back porch.

"What is it, Jon?" she quizzed, periodically looking upward. The thing in the sky was closer, and it looked almost like a car. Or a truck.

"I dunno, Martha," replied Jonathan as his wife arrived at his side, and now the two of them were looking skyward. Jonathan cleared his throat and shouted over his shoulder toward the barn, "Son, I think you need to come on down here, looks like we're being paid a visit!"

The elderly couple looked on as the Legion's makeshift Navigator made a stop, hovering inches above the high grass only a few yards away. Jon put an arm around Martha's hip and continued cupping his brow to block the sun. The hovercraft doors opened and out stepped several young folks, each wearing colorful costumes. A black-haired boy wearing a green and black jumpsuit with a symbol on the chest that resembled a tooth was the first to speak.

"Greetings, Mr. and Mrs. Kent," said Injestor as he approached. The other Legionnaires stayed by the vehicle. "Hope we didn't startle you," he added.

Jonathan shrugged. "Not really," he replied, "we've been half-expecting you!"

At that moment, the sky seemed to brighten. It seemed as if the sun just suddenly got a lot closer to the Earth. In unison, the Legionnaires and the Kents looked up toward the barn. Out of a doorway off the high loft stood a red-haired boy in a vibrant yellow and orange outfit. He stepped off the open ledge and hovered in a ray of golden sunlight; the wind flapped his orange cape around behind him like a flag. He made eye contact with Injestor and smiled as he lowered himself to the ground.

"Matter-Eater Lad!" he cried, and lurched forward to hug the lanky Legionnaire. "Finally, a familiar face!"

Injestor didn't know how to react; obviously, he knew who this young man was _supposed_ to be, but he didn't know him personally. And what the grife was a 'matter-eater lad?'

Brawler let out a belly laugh and mimicked, "_Matter-Eater Lad_! That's _Awesome_!"

The Kents smiled as their son, or an exact doppelganger of their son at the age of seventeen, warmly greeted the seven youngsters. They could see that Clark was finally exerting himself in a positive light for the first true time since showing up at their door those months ago. Much had changed for their boy; he may well have been the last son of Krypton, but due to his last near-death battle with Pulsar Stargrave, his powers had been permanently altered, and all that he'd known from his earliest childhood memories were now nothing but just that. _This_ Clark had been Superboy since just about when he could walk, getting into super-powered mischief even as a toddler. In his timeline, Clark's parents had already sewn together a Superboy outfit for him and had helped him maintain his secret identity so he could fit in with the common folk of Smallville. For most of his very young life, _this_ Clark was Superboy. But not anymore. Gone were his powers of invulnerability, flight and x-ray vision. Though he was still much stronger than the average teenager, he couldn't consider himself the teen of steel any longer. And the exposure to the red kryptonite had altered his appearance somewhat as well; his skin was pale and sensitive to sunlight, and his hair morphed from wavy black to straight and bright orange. Ma had purchased plenty of hair products down at the local pharmacy to help him acclimate to the new hair color, but still, when looking in the mirror, Clark didn't feel like himself. On top of all of this, he was lost in the time stream, only a visitor here on this earth. As wonderful as these Kents were, and gosh, were they, they still weren't really his own parents. Martha Kent picked up on all of his feelings of loneliness and disassociation, and she did everything in her power to make the boy feel at home.

"Come on, kids," gestured Martha, "let's head inside and get some lemonade."

As they turned to make way back to the house, bolts of fire began falling from the sky. Rock formations jutted upward randomly around them, creating a semicircular entrapment. From almost all directions they could hear a strange, high-pitched howl, making it hard to focus. "Ma, Pa, go back to the house!" yelled Clark as he instinctively built an invisible energy shield around the Kents, protecting them from whatever was happening. Martha grabbed onto Jonathan and winced, and the two of them scurried between rock formations to make a beeline to the house.

From the other side of the barn emerged another group of costumed youths. It was obvious, beyond the fire and rocks, that their intent was anything but friendly. One of them, a blonde girl, shouted, "The Hypertime reject belongs to us, Legionnaires!"

Injestor recognized her, and he knew immediately she was a strong threat. He gave Amp Girl a tactical nod and yelled back, "Superboy stays with us, _Inferno_! And I don't know what your damage is, but you'll have to go through us if you want him."

Clark stepped forward, stepped up on a jut of rock, and said, "My name's Reflecto now, and if you want me, come and get me!"


	6. The Time Trippers

The Legionnaires watched, dumbfounded, as an invisible, concentrated force slammed into Injestor's chest, sending him reeling backward against an oak tree nearly 50 yards away. His body hit the grass in a quiet swoop. With their field leader down for the count, they each began to react more out of panicked anger than organized mobilization. The young Superboy, now calling himself Reflecto, was the first to forge forward. His initial instinct was to protect Ma and Pa, then to stand with the Legionnaires.

Immediately, Mentalla telepathically reached into her teammates' minds to inform them of the aggressors' powers and strengths. Taking the defensive leadership posture, she directed Quartz off by the Kent's house, and Reflecto watched as Quartz's skin began to crystallize in mid-stride while he ran toward Jonathan and Martha. Without a thought, Quartz had erected a crystalline wall stretching about fifteen feet into the air, effectively blocking the Kents, and their home, from any danger.

"The pyrokinetic is Inferno, a rebel, honorary member of the Legion who chose to stay behind in the past the last time the Legion was lost in the time stream," said Mentalla in her teammates' minds. She continued, "Never a trustworthy candidate to begin with, be extremely wary of her! The small blonde girl is called Terra: she controls the earth below us. The human boy calls himself Tyroc and has disruptive vocal powers, which as Injestor can attest, can be quite destructive. And the Qwardian fellow is the most docile, but not to be underestimated. His name is Kaliber, and there's something familiar about him that I can't perceive mentally… but there's something deep in his psyche that we must be cautious of." As she telepathically stated these things to the group, they had formed their own offensive power play.

Brawler was already in motion, jumping like a rabid pitbull at the Qwardian goliath only to be met with a nonchalant backhand. The barn actually shook as Brawler's muscular body hit the side of it, knocking loose several shingles. Orbit screeched, and as she did a series of circular plasma rings shot from her throat, increasing in size and girth as they flew at the Qwardian and fell upon him like a ring toss. He struggled to break free, but the rings were nigh indestructible. His blank eyes were fixated on Reflecto's face, as if he were studying it. But Reflecto's attention was on the fellow called Tyroc.

"We aren't here to hurt the Kents," yelled Inferno, "But if you get in our way, we'll have no problem taking you each down one by one!"

Mentalla was focused on Terra, who was making arm gestures and mentally pulling chunks of ground up and out, hovering them at her side. Mentalla entered and commandeered her motor functions; Terra screamed, "_Get out of my head_!" as her movements were manipulated like a stringless puppet; she tossed the hovering boulders unwillingly out past the silo.

Tyroc cupped his mouth and let out a maddening shriek. The Legionnaires covered their ears; Amp Girl, who hadn't fully recovered from the time jaunt earlier that day, fell to her knees, shouting as tears streamed her face. As Mentalla's hold over the geomorph abruptly ended and Orbit's plasma rings disintegrated off Kaliber, Reflecto couldn't stand to watch anymore. Although the high pitched shriek was torturing him, he bent and leapt upward with all his might, the momentum carrying him straight back into the fray. He took another brunt of the adversary's vocal onslaught, absorbed as much as he could, and replicated it right back on him. Tyroc was knocked backward and fell to the ground, cupping his own ears. Retro, sensing the fact that, despite the amount of people on his team he was quickly becoming outnumbered, ran over to where Brawler lay and put his hands on the Moxian's chest, drawing time back a few seconds, bringing Brawler right back to the stance he'd held before his attack on the big guy.

"Metro! Dude, how the _grife_ did you…" asked a startled Brawler.

"No time, man, just help Reflecto!" yelled Retro as he began to repeat his temporeversal efforts on his other fallen teammates. Brawler again targeted Kaliber; as Brawler jumped and flipped in mid air, Kaliber began increasing his size and mass, growing like a giant. By the time Brawler's heels connected with the Qwardian's heavily armored chest, the Moxian Legionnaire was deflected like a gnat. Amp Girl had powered up, her body's adrenaline multiplied threefold, and she attacked Kaliber from behind, rapidly pummeling just behind his right knee. As the giant buckled, Amp Girl leapt upward, gripping his massive shoulders, and pulled with her enhanced strength. Brawler took point and thrust all his weight at Kaliber's chest, assisting Amp Girl's assault. He yanked at the Qwardian's metallic chest plating and it began popping into hundreds of small metal balls, thudding to the ground. Once Kaliber lay on his back, Brawler pinned him down, slugging him until he went unconscious, surrendering to normal size.

Across the yard, Inferno hurled balls of fire at Reflecto who was doing his best to block and dodge. His reflecting powers didn't seem to work with fire, but he wasn't about to stand for this girl's wanton destruction of his parent's farm. He inhaled deeply, which before the transformation of his powers would have snuffed the oxygen from the flames, and blew out as hard as he could, extinguishing the fires and knocking Inferno off her feet. Flames flickering off her hair and eyebrows embodied her anger; she dusted herself off, gained her ground, and began to fiercely repeat the exchange with the fair-haired Kryptonian.

Meanwhile, Terra had gotten the jump on Mentalla before the Titanian Legionnaire could enter her mind again. A few strategically pulsed stones had sent Mentalla running to hide behind Reflecto, but one hit her temple and she fell to the ground. Terra reached down to check for a pulse; despite what may or may not have been her history, she didn't want to kill anyone. She just wanted to know the truth. And the entity pulling her team's strings was the only one who held the promise of an answer.

"Get away from her!" yelled Retro as he ran toward his fallen teammate. From across the yard, Tyroc aimed another intonation; his mouth formed an oval and the sound opened a rift in the fabric of space in Retro's path; he inadvertently slipped right through, rendering him disoriented about a mile away from the Kent farm. At the same moment, Quartz also disappeared from the Kents' side. Jonathan Kent had gone into the house to grab his rifle and was just about ready to end this whole thing by firing a shot into the air. Before he could, though, he watched as the tables began to turn. Mentalla had repositioned her efforts onto Tyroc, deeming him the best target, and as she mentally took over his body, Tyroc aimed a shriek at Inferno and Terra, knocking them both off their feet. Orbit yelled, "Yes," and as she did she launched more plasma rings, which locked themselves around the attackers. A small one fit snugly over Tyroc's mouth. Reflecto removed his cape, swooped around the yard, and soon the four assailants were tied up back-to-back.

"So who wants to start?" asked Reflecto with a respectful nod off to his Pa, still holding the rifle.

"Your presence here has thrown the time stream off balance," said Inferno. Although she had cooled down, her clenched fists still radiated with intense heat. "We were instructed to bring you back to where you come from, so we just elected to do it the rough way."

"Not I," asserted the pink-skinned giant. "Kaliber does not want to harm the Superboy, no matter what he does to his hair or decides to call himself. I only want to assist the Superboy in getting back to where he belongs so the time stream stops unraveling."

After instructing Orbit to fly off and find Retro and Quartz, Injestor resumed his place at front of his team, standing between Mentalla and Reflecto. "Inferno," he said, "I think we have a similar mission, despite your 21st century tactics."

"Can I break his face?" mumbled Tyroc from under the plasma ring covering his mouth. "Please?"

"Quiet, Troy," replied Inferno firmly.

"Great," replied Injestor. "So what now? What exactly are your plans with Reflecto?"

Inferno tried moving her hand from the bonds of Reflecto's cape, reaching into her utility belt, emblazoned upon the buckle of which was still the Legion logo. She retrieved a standard-issue Legion flight ring. "Here," she said as she motioned to Reflecto. "This belongs to you. There is another who's been a victim of the unraveling time stream. Our sources indicate that she and Reflecto are two very essential players in the imbalance wreaking havoc on time. If we—"

"Wait just a minute!" demanded Reflecto, cutting Inferno off in mid-sentence. "What sources are you referring to? And how do I even know we can trust you?"

Brawler grumbled and punched his right fist into his left palm. Amp Girl and Mentalla stepped a bit forward.

Terra nodded to Inferno and said, "I found out some things about myself very recently, some things I wasn't too happy to hear," she said. "Turns out, I don't exactly belong here in the 21st century… or at least not this year. I haven't even been born yet. As you know, Inferno is also someone displaced in time. Both of these guys are too. And our connection to each other is that we're each a pawn of a being called the Time Trapper."

"Great Krypton!" exclaimed Reflecto.

Injestor shrugged his shoulders and asked, "What's a Time Trapper?"

Reflecto turned to his friend and replied, "He is a mysterious being of unimaginable power, sitting in his pavilion at the end of time pulling everybody's strings! The Legion has tried to foil him time and again, but to no avail. He has sabotaged everything from Lightning Lad and Saturn Girl's wedding to—"

Tyroc turned to Kaliber, muffled, "Jeez, who writes this guy's stuff?" and chuckled softly as Reflecto went on about the terrors of the Time Trapper. The others, however, listened intently, especially Terra. She hadn't forgotten her run-in with a holographic image of the Time Trapper not so long ago. It had left her lost and unsettled, searching for her true place. When Inferno came for her last week with a story about the time rift and how she was a part of it as well, Terra thought at least now she'd be able to find out her true origins. Was she a clone of the Teen-Titan-gone-bad, or was she an individual girl imbued with the same powers? And just where, or when, did she belong?

Mentalla did a calm telepathic sweep of Terra, and then Inferno. They each were speaking the truth, and Mentalla didn't sense any hypnotic presence. She said, "We're here in this era to help set the time stream straight, but our instructions from the folks at the Time Institute were to bring Superboy, or Reflecto, back to the 31st Century with us."

Amp Girl chimed in, "True, but following these guys could be an opportunity for us to find this Time Trapper! Maybe he's the cause of the rift after all, just like Reflecto eluded to!"

"That _would_ be my assumption," agreed Reflecto. "I say we follow Inferno and Terra."

"I am most pleased to stand by your side, Superboy," declared Kaliber.

After a few minutes, Orbit and Retro swooped back to the farm. "We can't find Quartz," said Retro, shooting a dagger-like stare at Tyroc.

Tyroc shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, "Don't look at me!"


End file.
